Chapter 24

Poppy

Something bigger.

Something with bumps and ridges.

Oh my god.

It's a pickle.

One of the big fat ones that came as a garnish on his plate, and he's pushing it against my p.u.s.s.y entrance.

Holy f.u.c.k.

My eyes fly to his face but he's looking at Mom, completely calm, nodding along as she talks about work-life balance or whatever, I can't even process what she's saying because the pickle is pushing inside me.

It's thick. Way thicker than his fingers. And the bumpy ridged surface drags against my walls as he works it in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me open.

I bite down hard on...